Nachos, Slavery, Blueberries and the 'B' Sound
by marisa lee
Summary: I didn't want Bubba to get punished for something that was entirely out of his control. Marball/GumLee oneshot.


**disclaimer: Adventure Time belongs to Cartoon Network and the fantastically perfect Pendleton Ward.**

**a/n**

**Marshall is a vampire, but Gumball's just a normal dude. ages are obvious.**

**idk if I like this story or not. let me know what you guys think. ok bye~**

**xoxo -ml**

* * *

**Nachos, Slavery, Blueberries and the 'B' Sound  
**

I don't think I particularly like the way a graduation gown fits people. Guys especially. It makes their shoulders look all bulky and their bodies all square. Though I've always liked Bubba just fine even without his good looks, I will admit that gown is a bit of a turnoff. He looks like a blueberry. A blueberry with pink hair.

I can't help but think that a lot of the reason he isn't anything greater than a high school graduate is because of me. I was a bad influence on good little Bubba, and I had done all I could to fix that.

Even if it meant leaving without saying goodbye.

* * *

"You have a little, um..."

"What?"

The pink-haired boy's eyebrows fluttered nervously on his head and I stared at him.

"What?"

He cleared his throat and cautiously reached out to wipe a smear of salsa from my chin with his thumb. Okay, so I'm not the cleanest nacho-eater out there. He should've given me props for not making a mess all over his front yard.

His blush was more than prominent at the proximity of our faces but I grinned and shrugged it off. "Thanks," I said to him, shoving another nacho into my mouth. I pretended not to notice the way his face scrunched up in displeasure and I laughed.

We were sitting in two wicker chairs on the crisp, white wooden deck of Bubba's front yard, sharing a plate of nachos and basking in the sunlight (well, Bubba was anyways. I was shaded by my favourite baseball cap because I'm not one to take a liking to the sun). It was a regular summer tradition. The wicker chairs, the porch, the nachos, the cap. Every Saturday we relaxed in this way, reflecting on events of the past week and excitedly talking of the week to come.

I closed my eyes and inhaled another nacho, dripping with salsa. I think nachos were one of the only foods Bubba and I could actually agree on.

"Hey, Marshall Lee?"

"Yeah?" My mouth was full.

He cleared his throat again and shifted positions in his wicker chair. He pulled his feet up to his bottom and held them there in that butterfly position, rocking back and forth slightly, not looking at me. He did this when he was nervous. Which was often.

"I, um. Well..."

"Has anyone ever told you how adorable you look when you stutter?"

I knew he secretly liked it when I said things like that to him. But his normally pink-tinted cheeks blushed a deeper red than blood and he scoffed at me. "Knock it off, Marshall, I'm trying to tell you something serious."

I tried my best not to laugh because I knew how he got sometimes. But he was just so damn cute with that blush on his face. I hid my grin behind an extra-large nacho and looked him in the eye, an indication to continue.

He took a deep breath and looked away from me. His eyes shut tight and he played with his toes in his hands. "I... I'm starting high school in a few days."

I frowned. "That's what you had to tell me?"

His eyes fluttered open and he stared at me. "Well, yes..."

The giant nacho disappeared into my mouth with a snort. "I a'ready knew tha', Bub."

He took another deep breath as if this were the hardest thing for him to do in the world. "Yes I _know_ you knew that, but there's something... there's something else, too."

Swallowing my mouthful, I leaned over the table and stared into his dark blue eyes. He was captivating me again. I dropped my voice down to a whisper. "I know you're gonna be gone. We go through this every year. We're best buds, I can handle it." I took his nervous hand into mine and squeezed reassuringly.

It was when he pulled his hand away without looking me in the eye that I knew something was seriously up. I couldn't let him stare at the ground and not tell me what was on his mind like that. Knowing him, though, it was most likely something mediocre and he was making an unnecessarily big fuss about it. My hand reached out to cup his cheek and turn his face towards me, forcing him to look at me.

"What is it, Bubba?"

He knew he couldn't avoid telling me anymore. With a heavy sigh he bravely looked me straight in the eye and told me the news that would change my life forever. Well, for the next four years, at least.

"My mother knows about us."

My heart jumped a beat. Bubba's mother was probably the biggest homophobe I had ever known. "H-How?" I stuttered, despite my desperate attempt not to stutter.

His eyes trailed to my lips, inches from his, then to the hand on his face. His mouth twisted into a sad smile. "Well, you do make it kind of obvious."

Now it was my turn to flush. I pulled away from him almost instantly and leaned back in my chair. I could see his point.

"What happens now?" I whispered.

He shifted again in his seat, still nervously clutching his feet in his hands, and sighed.

"I don't know," he admitted after a minute of pained silence. He turned his head to swipe his chin against his shoulder. His eyebrows worried on his forehead and he frowned cutely.

Bubba was only entering his first year of highschool, but I could see in his eyes a heavy, tired and somber expression you'd never expect out of somebody so young. I'd never fully acknowledged it, but Bubba definitely didn't get enough credit for the shit he had to put up with even as a minor. His parents didn't approve of homosexuals, for one thing. They also always expected him to be at the top of the class, to always keep straight A's and never get in trouble. On top of that, they didn't approve of their son spending much time with me to begin with. Yet even throughout all of my antics, he put up with me and never once doubted me.

I frowned to mirror his expression. It pained me to think about it, but something had to be done about the fact that his mother knew we were together. I couldn't let my Bubba be punished for something that wasn't entirely his fault.

I sighed. I knew his deceiving mother was probably watching us right now, and I'd gonna and zonked it up even more. I knew what I had to do, and there was no other way around it.

"It's gonna be okay," I lied. I knew I shouldn't lie to my Bubba, but what else could I do? I couldn't tell him of my plan. He'd throw a fit.

So I didn't tell him.

I knew it hurt him a lot when I left, but I made myself promise I would never again be a burden to him. I thought that maybe if I left, the pained look in his eyes would also leave.

The very day Bubba left me for highschool, I left him, too.

* * *

That first day must have been the hardest on me, and on him, too. Even though I'd left him, I was never really gone. But I had to make it seem like I was gone for the benefit of my Bubba.

He nearly busted down my front door in tears that first night, wondering where the hell I was and if I was playing some sort of trick on him, it wasn't funny so knock it off. It took all of my strength not to run out there and pull him into my arms; I knew this was for the best.

He left my house that day with an expression that was a mixture of fuming and bawling, the tears streaming down his face and his eyebrows pushed up in the angriest manner he could muster. It would have killed me, had I not already been dead.

I watched from a distance as my Bubba progressed through highschool. The first few months I could tell were difficult for him. His eyes swelled up and were puffy from crying, he never once smiled that gleaming smile I was so used to seeing. But after a while, I could tell Bubba was gradually getting over it. Getting over me.

I saw him attend his first football game, swaddled in his pink overcoat with lavender mittens, hat and scarf to match.

I observed, with a smirk, the signature way he always chewed his pencil when he was thinking really hard.

He received an award for his academics—top of the class for four straight years.

I watched him learn Spanish, take part in clubs, win art competitions, and create chemistry experiments. My Bubba always loved to learn.

And I hid, invisible, behind the punch bowl as I watched him attend his senior prom—all dolled up and handsome.

Bubba had really grown into a wonderful and fantastic man. I cursed myself every day for leaving him like I did. But he would never have made so many achievements with me weighing him down. He had to grow and prosper, and I was just in his way.

I knew he hadn't forgotten me, though. Maybe he wasn't as hung up on me as I was on him, but I could tell he never completely got over me.

I knew that for sure the day I received an invitation to his graduation ceremony.

I fought myself for weeks, trying to decide whether I should go or not. I finally decided that he'd never have sent an invitation to my house if he didn't want me to be there. So, I went out and bought a red button down shirt and some nice black slacks, combed my hair back until I looked like a greaser, shaved my face for the first time in four years and slid into a seat a the back of the crowd.

Like I said, I don't like the way that blue graduation gown fits my Bubba. Bubba the Blueberry. I play silently with my 'B' sounds as he struts up the stairs to receive his diploma.

"That's my son," I hear his mother whisper loudly to a woman across the aisle.

"Is he, er...?"

I catch her rolling her eyes. "Yes, he is gay. Or he says he is. Claims he's had a boyfriend for a while now, though I haven't seen him around."

My first instinct is to laugh. I don't, but that's my first instinct. Bubba's mother had sounded almost _proud_ of him. For being what he is. When before all she had to say were judgements. She makes me sick.

I think about his mother some more until all at once, my heart sinks into my gut as reality hits me. Bubba's had a boyfriend? Has he forgotten about me? About... us?

I watch him turn to smile at the flashing cameras in the audience. His eyes immediately lock with mine. A terrified, almost painful shudder rips through my spine when his gaze flashes away from mine.

No, he hasn't forgotten.

It was a mistake of me to come here. He's changed. I've changed. And it should stay that way—for the better. I leap out of my seat as soon as they're all applauding the graduating class and bolt for the door in high hopes that nobody sees me.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Too late. I freeze in my tracks and my head whips around to see a grinning Bubba staring back at me. The ceremony is over now. His hair curls around his ears and temples without his cap but the gown remains, blocky and ugly on his stick-like form. I stare at it so I don't have to look into his eyes. _He's captivating me again_.

I say nothing. What is there to say?

"You came back," he barely breathes. I realize exactly how close he's gotten since he approached me. He's taller than me now. Just by a hair or two. His arms, though still skinny as ever, have grown muscular and his shoulders wider. Sexier.

The bustle of the graduates happens all too loudly around us, and I can even hear his mother off in some distant corner somewhere bragging to her friends that, yes, her son is gay and she couldn't love him more. I fight the urge to sneer because I've got something—someone—more important to deal with.

"Of course I came back." It sounds stupid. It is stupid.

His grin gets wider. Why is he so damn happy? Why isn't he yelling? Screaming at me? Telling me to get lost?

As if he can read my mind (and somehow it seemed he always could), he gives me that same sad smile he smiled those four long years ago and says, "I'm angry with you."

Maybe he hasn't changed that much.

"I know," I admit, still not looking him in the eye.

He does the same as I had those four years ago, he cups my chin and turns my face towards him.

"But I know why you did it." He laughs at my surprised look, nodding towards his mother, who stands in a huddle of parents. "I've been living with my mother for eighteen years and I'm _still_ afraid of her."

I snort. A bit loudly. Do I care? Of course not. I can feel my confidence returning by the second. "Bubs, that's not—"

"Hush," he cuts me off with a finger to my lips. "You did what you had to do. I trusted you. I was only ever worried you wouldn't come back."

I smile. My fangs poke out of my lips. I open my mouth to say something, but he cuts me off again.

"I just wish you would've said goodbye."

I wince and my smile falls. "I'm so sorry, Bubba."

He gives me a look. "You can make it up to me by being my slave for ten thousand days."

"Wha—I... I mean I—"

"Has anyone ever told you how cute you look when you stutter?"

He got me. Using my own line. I just stare at him in awed disbelief.

"No slave then, huh?" he hums, amused. "Hmm, how about ten thousand kisses then?"

That exact mischievous look on his face is the thing I've missed the most about my Bubba. I laugh. "I think I might be able to suffer through that."

He pulls me close, his hands on either side of my face, but he doesn't kiss me. He just looks at me, _really_ looks at me, and I at him.

I then realize that the pained look in Bubba's eyes might not ever go away. But even if it doesn't, I will always be there to try to relieve _some_ of it.

We finally pull in for a long anticipated quick kiss and I can almost distinctly hear Bubba's mother calling out to the other parents, "Why yes! That's my son's boyfriend! He's really a nice boy, you ought to meet him!" As if she knows anything.

"One down," I remind him.

"Ninety nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine to go," he finishes.

I fake a groan. "Man, are you kidding me?"

He smirks and flicks the creased collar on my white shirt with a teasing hand.

"You clean up nice, Marshall."

"Yeah, this shirt was red when I bought it."

And he rolls his eyes, he, Bubba, _my_ Bubba, the handsome, perfect, flawless, Blueberry Bubba, with his pink hair, while his mother brags about me, the boyfriend, who was never really gone for all those four years, he knew, oh how he knew everything, and I know he's wondering for the millionth time why he's even surprised.


End file.
